The Angel of Death
by At A Venture
Summary: Sookie/Eric. AU. In pre-Reformation France, Sookie is a nun dealing with her new found telepathic ability. When a blond-haired "angel" comes to her convent, she believes she must use her ability for good. Rated M for adult themes. NO MORE UPDATES.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I was inspired to write this piece while doing some research on witchcraft in pre-Reformation Europe (outside of Spain). I haven't decided whether or not to continue this story, so consider it a possible two-shot. This story is AU, but the characters are largely the same. Eric is still a vampire, and Sookie is still a human with the gift of telepathy. This story contains references to sexual violence and methods of medieval torture. It is therefore rated M for mature themes. However, I would not consider it out and out descriptive or necessarily triggering. At any rate, read with these things in mind.-AAV_

_

* * *

  
_

**The Angel of Death**

I awakened for breakfast upon the first chime of the morning bells. I love to hear their sound echo upon the walls of my cell, so I often wait for a few moments in silence, just before the first bell rings. It was late in the old year, and the sun would not be up for many hours yet. Still, I slid out from under the warm quilt my sisters had given me and pressed my feet into my slippers. I stretched out the kinks in my back and shoulders, soreness from a life spent dozing when I might be spreading the Word. I pulled back my door and retrieved the stout pitcher of fresh well water for my morning toilette. The water was icy, and I splashed my face quickly so as to avoid touching it too much. I finished my bathing lickety-split and reached into the closet for my clothes. For a moment, I ran my fingers over the white broadcloth habit, admiring the needlework of the hem, the seams. I had sewn this gown myself, and that skill brought glory to the Lord. I smiled and said a little prayer of thanks before wiggling out of my nightgown and into my day clothes. I covered my hair and put on my shoes. I tucked my rosary into my pocket, and stepped out of the room toward the hall for breakfast.

It was the year 1522, and I was a young sister with the Dominican Order, an order of nuns with the church of Saint-Jaques, in Paris, France. I'd lived in the church for most of my life, from the time when my parents had died tragically in an accident. My brother and I had both been given to the church at the request of our late parents. I had come to love the simple life immediately, but my brother Jason ran away, never to be seen again. Sometimes I miss him, but the Lord keeps me strong. Outside the convent, the world was changing. When walking through the halls or tending the garden, I would often hear our Reverend Mother talking about the future of our Order, or the coming of the Inquisition, or the movement of heretics into our great city. It was a strange and wondrous time to be in Paris, and never once did I regret it.

I sat down among my sisters at our breakfast table and bent my head to listen to the _lectio divina_ before our meal was served. Joy filled me, and any memories or thoughts of my brother drifted out of me as the Word spread through every part of my body and soul. When the passage was finished, we gave our thanks, and began to talk. I turned to my Sister Julia and smiled brightly.

"I read the most amazing book yesterday," I beamed. I broke a piece of baguette and placed it upon my plate.

"Oh really?" She giggled with interest.

"Yes," I smiled. "It was by the Blessed Alain de la Roche, and it described the fifteen sacred promises of the rosary."

"Oh yes, I've seen that book in the library. I am anxious to read it."

"It is quite beautiful. I meditated on my studies long after I had finished in the garden. I think I will do extra rosaries during my evening prayers."

"I might join you in that, Sister!"

We ate the remainder of our breakfast in silence, and I ruminated on the promise of faithful children until I rose to clean my plate and move to the chapel for Lauds. The day in the life of a nun is a long one, full of study and work and prayer, but this is the life we have been given. I sat quietly on one of the straight-backed pews in the middle of the chapel and listened quietly to the Benedictus. I kept my eyes closed and my mind open, in order to make myself ready for the Words of God, should he see fit to give them to me. Underneath the voice of Father Lawrence reading the Gospel, I heard another voice. I shut my eyes tighter to concentrate, to hear the voice of the angels or the saints, whomever wished to speak to me.

_Lord, how I long to die and at last come to be your true wife. I am done with this world and all that it has brought me. By your blessing, please bring me home. _I looked up, opening my eyes suddenly. Sister Eleanor's voice was echoing in my head, and I could still hear her longing to move on from this Earthly existence. I bit my lip and tried not to hear it. Surely it was my imagination. Surely I had just not had enough sleep. I shook my head and refocused on the reading of the scripture. Only the Devil could cause you to do sure improper things, and I was a child of God.

When we had finished our Lauds and Mass, I hurried to do my chores in solitude. I sat in the kitchen peeling potatoes and carrots for supper, and as I did so, I hummed quietly to block out the noise of thoughts. There were few women in the kitchen, and so it was easy to avoid hearing them. Still, every time I remembered the thoughts of Sister Eleanor, I nearly dropped my work. How was it possible to hear thoughts? Was this the work of God that I had waited for? I shuddered and prayed that it was not. Sister Margaret hurried into the kitchen with her apron pulled up around her face. I caught a quick glimpse at her cheeks, buried in her hands and skirt. She looked as though she'd been crying. I tried to hum louder, but I was too intrigued, curious as to her despair. _God, why have you forsaken me? Please tell me what I have done! _I blinked and dropped the potato, half-peeled, into the bucket. I covered my ears. This was not happening! It was not!

I followed Sister Margaret out of the kitchen and down the hall to her cell. She had left her door open, and I could see through the open crack that she was prostrate in front of her small altar to the Blessed Virgin. She was crying desperately, and I sank into the room and shut the door behind me.

"Sister, what is it?" I asked her quietly. I touched her shaking shoulder and she jumped.

"It's nothing, Sister Sookie," she whimpered. Still, she continued to weep.

"You can confide in me, Sister Margaret," I frowned. I pushed her rosary into her hands and she clutched it tightly. "We can confide in each other, and in our Lord."

"I cannot tell you," she whimpered. I pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her shoulders, and tucked her head against my bosom. She cried until my habit was damp with her tears, and together, we prayed for salvation and love. All the while, she thought only of how God had left her, and that she was a weak and foolish girl. I didn't ask what she meant. I couldn't let her know I'd heard her.

After our midday meal of stew, I returned to my cell alone. I knelt upon the floor while my sisters were laying down to rest, and I clasped my hands tightly together. I bowed my head at first, and then changed my mind. If I lifted my eyes to the Lord, he might hear me better. I needed to be heard now.

"Lord," I whispered. "Please tell me why I have been given this ability, to hear the thoughts of my sisters, to know what is in their hearts. Please, Lord, I beg of you. Give me some sign that this was your purpose. I want to help them, to give them my love and my friendship. I am afraid, Lord. I am afraid." I clutched my rosary and began to pray, over and over again. I fell asleep upon my knees, and awakened to the light touch of a knock upon my door. It was time to rise again, to complete the day. I wasn't even close to ready.

I spent the latter half of my workday in the garden, digging in the dirt and pulling weeds from around our vegetables and herbs. Pain throbbed in my temples and around my eyes as I struggled to keep voices from invading my head. Sister Margaret appeared lost in her own thoughts as she knelt beside our dairy cow, and Sister Eleanor had taken on a similar dazed look while she plucked late apples from the boughs of our tree. I got up slowly as the bells began to sound for the end of the day. My knees cracked and groaned after sitting in the same spot for hours on end. I felt weary and sick when I walked to the chapel amongst my sisters and found a pew to sit in.

In the evening, we were joined by the community, and our pews filled with the devout members of our congregation. Our order sat upon pews in the balcony so that more seats would be available to Parisians. I enjoyed watching them file in, tired from a long day and ready to give their voices and faith to God. I recognized many of their faces, and I smiled down at those of them that looked up at us. The service began as people continued to fill seats. Among the latecomers was a man I had not seen before. He had long blond hair that fell loose around his back and shoulders. It was much longer than what I knew to be the fashion, and yet he seemed to wear the style with pride. He was obviously a man of wealth, but he was not ostentatious. His doublet was dark violet, and the black jerkin over it was black with slashed sleeves so that the doublet peeked through. The ensemble had a high neck and jeweled buttons. His skirts were full and embroidered along the hem, and his hose and heeled shoes were black to match. The darkness of his ensemble, paired with the thick fur wrap on his shoulders made him look mysterious. And yet, the white golden hair gave him the appearance of an angel. He lifted his eyes to me, and I was shocked by the brightness of his sharp blue eyes. He smiled at me, genuinely, and I felt my headache and illness lifting. I felt Sister Julia pinch my arm, and I quickly turned my attention to the hymnal as we stood to lift our voices in song.

"Do you know him?" Sister Julia whispered in my ear as the reading of the Scripture began. I turned my attention briefly back to the man, who had come to sit in the last pew near the entrance doors. He crossed one leg over the other, and seemed to keep his attention on the reading.

"I've never seen him before." I replied. I couldn't seem to take my eyes from him. When I stared at him, I could not feel the thoughts of my sisters trying to invade my head. I could not hear anything at all, not even my own heart beating. It was like a blessing from the Lord.

"He looks to be quite wealthy, don't you think?"

"Yes, I think he must be." I nodded.

"We should ask some of the other Sisters if they have seen him or know who he is,"

"Hm, maybe," I agreed. I wasn't listening to her anymore, though. I was concentrating solely on the man. He seemed to feel me staring and lifted his eyes to regard me again. I saw his mouth widen slightly into a grin. I couldn't help but smile sheepishly back at him.

At the end of Vespers, I hurried down the balcony steps to greet our guest before he had a chance to leave. I was due at the supper table, but I could not let the angelic-like visitor leave as mysteriously as he had come. I scrambled to a halt in front of him as he turned to rise from his seat. I clasped my hands under my habit and tugged on my rosary for support. I had so rarely engaged in conversation with men, and this man, in particular, made me nervous. As soon as I opened my mouth, though, I could be nothing but the frank and honest Sookie I have always been.

"My name is Sister Sookie. Thank you for coming to our church this evening. I have never seen you before. May I ask who you are?"

"I am Eric Northman," he nodded and bowed his head to me. I was a tiny dwarf of a thing when he stood. He seemed to touch the tips of the cathedral ceilings, and I hovered near the slate floor. I curtsied slightly and awkwardly.

"I hope you return and worship with us again, Sir. We do love to have familiar faces in our congregation. That was how I noticed that you stuck out."

"Am I that obvious?" He chuckled, a deep and melodious sound that made my heart flutter.

"You are, Sir," I whispered, unable to find my voice.

"Perhaps when I return, I may see you again, Sister," he smiled. I bit the inside of my lip and hoped that I would have the chance to speak to him again. I loved the curious sound of his voice, dark as it was, with a slight accent that was decidedly un-French.

"Please know that you are welcome here, Sir." I nodded again and smiled, then quickly made my exit toward the dining hall. I turned to look over my shoulder to watch him exit, but he was still standing beside the pew, looking at me. A sensation of calm washed over me, and I turned back on my path.

The dining hall was alive with voices following our service, and I came to sit between my sisters Margaret and Julia. Sister Julia wanted to hear all about our blond-haired stranger, but Sister Margaret was deep in thought, her eyes watery and glinting with candlelight. I stretched my hand out across hers and stroked her fingers gently. She looked up at me and embraced my shoulders. Then she got up from the table and excused herself. I watched her leave, then got up to follow her. Sister Eleanor caught me by the wrist as I left. She shook her head and nodded me back in the direction of our meal.

"I will go to her, Sister Sookie," she frowned. I looked down at her hand on my wrist and felt the great throbbing in my head return almost immediately. I stopped struggling against whatever her thoughts were trying to tell me, and I opened up to her. Her mind was a fluttering bird in a cage, and it seemed to poke at me with its beak. _These things that we have gone through are the same. We are forsaken by the Lord, and we have sinned. We will give our penance and beg for his forgiveness. What have we done but be women, weak-willed and unable to protect ourselves? We can no longer serve in this place, wrecked as we are. What will we do? What will become of us, whores and harlots? _I stared at her in horror and she dropped my hand. The stream of thoughts stopped up a little, and only a trickle of her thoughts continued across the bed of my mind. I longed to stretch out for her again, but she quickly rushed out of the room to follow Sister Margaret.

"Is Sister Eleanor okay?" Sister Julia asked me as soon as I sat down to my meal of potatoes and carrots with a small portion of salted meat.

"I don't know," I sighed. I looked down at my plate and realized I was not hungry. I felt bad for wasting the food, so I forced it down. My limbs and head felt heavy, as though the man in the back of the church had never relieved me of my burden.

"All will be well, Sister," Julia assured me. She patted my hand. It felt as though each touch was a spark from a flint stone, and I quickly pulled away. I pushed my chair away from the table and excused myself from our meal. I stumbled through the halls to the courtyard, and then to the outhouse. I fell to my knees and vomited, retching up all that I had eaten only minutes before. Tears rolled down my face, and I let them fall. I crawled out of the small shack again and knelt upon the grass, staining my habit green and brown. I stared up at the darkening sky.

"God," I wept, clutching my hands together until my knuckles were white. "Why have you given me this terrible curse? Why must I hear the voices of my sisters? I cannot do anything for them. I cannot help them. God, I beg of you. Help me in my hour of need. I am your devoted daughter. Help me, I pray."

My night was a restless one and I awakened violently while the night was still upon us. I could hear rustling in the hall beyond my cell, and I got up from my bed to look out of the bars upon the door. I watched Sister Madeline streak by in her nightgown, her fists covering her face. After a few minutes, Father Henry ran past. His robes flew out behind him, and I assumed he was going to comfort Sister Madeline. I sighed and went back to bed, confused by the activity at so late an hour. I fell into a deep slumber, and I saw the face of Eric Northman glowing as though crowned by a halo. He filled me with relief and joy, and I woke up to the morning bells with a song in my heart.

I spent the day looking forward to evening mass, but at midday prayers, I watched Father Henry take Sister Madeline aside. Sister Madeline was a young woman, not much older than I. She had only taken her final vows a few months earlier, and she was still very new to the order. Her pretty face, usually marked by rosy pink cheeks and a small pink mouth, was stony and gray. She looked as though she had seen a ghost, or as if she knew someone who had recently died. My heart went out to her, and with it went my mind. I seemed to open my thoughts to her as though my arms were reaching out to embrace her. I found the tap into her emotions easily. _Don't touch me. Don't talk to me. Please Lord, keep him away from me. God, how I want to escape this place. I have never felt so alone and lost among my sisters, and my family! Please God, take me away from here. _I let my eyes jump from my sister to Father Henry. His hands were folded beneath his white robes, and his beady eyes were bright and distinctly jovial. The two of them stood together in stark contrast.

At evening vespers, I joined my sisters in the balcony over our congregation. The devout rushed into the pews and took to their knees to respect the sign of the cross. I waited patiently for our angelic newcomer, and my heart strained against my chest when he walked into the church and lifted his eyes to me. He did not make the sign of the cross before he took his seat, I noticed. Not a single part of me cared. He nodded at me, smiled genuinely, and filled me with that same radiating calmness that had possessed me on the previous night. When our service ended, I hurried down the stairs again to greet him.

"Are you an angel?" I asked him outright, remembering my dream. He laughed mightily, and I felt the vibrations of his voice like the ringing of the morning bells.

"No, Sister, I am not an angel," he shook his head.

"You have a power over me that only my Lord has," I whispered nervously.

"You are an unusual woman, Sister, and an even more unusual nun." His hand stretched out and touched my cheek. His skin was cold, like the bark of a shaded tree, and yet, his touch spread warmth through every part of me.

"Please, Sir, I am married to our Lord, Jesus Christ." I responded automatically, and his hand fell away. Instant regret surged through me, and I ached to reach for his hand.

"Forgive me, Sister," he nodded solemnly. His eyes flicked away from mine and returned again.

"I do not believe you," I said. "You say that you are not an angel, but you must be. I cannot explain the way you make me feel in any other way."

"It is better for you to believe what you wish then to know the truth, Sister." He reached out and touched my face again, and this time I did not disregard the touch. The calmness that stretched from him like fingers was incredible, as though I could feel the Grace of God upon my skin. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead. My insides clenched tightly like fists. I was breathless, and I gasped for air.

"Goodnight, Sister," he murmured. "I will visit you again."

"Where have you been?" Sister Mary admonished me as I scrambled into the kitchen to help with the preparation of supper. I tied my apron quickly around my waist and removed the stew from the fire.

"I was speaking to one of our parishioners," I said quickly. I began ladling the soup into bowls, and another Sister gathered the bowls up so they could be taken to the table.

"While it is good to discuss faith with our congregation, Sister Sookie, you must remember to keep up with your chores," Sister Mary frowned.

"Yes Sister Mary," I nodded. My mind was elsewhere. I had felt the lips of a man upon my skin, and I had enjoyed the touch more than any thing or experience I had ever had. My flesh seemed to sing with joy, and my heart fluttered so much that I thought it had grown butterfly wings. I spilled a little of the stew upon my apron and hardly noticed it. At the table, I gulped down my meal and rushed from the table so that I could be alone.

Perhaps this angel was my sign from God, my sign that all would be well with this new gift the Lord had bestowed upon me. After all, I had dreamed of this man, glowing like a heavenly visitor. He had come into the church and listened to the sermon and spoke the prayers. He could not be a visitor of the Devil. He seemed to know how to soothe me, and even though he did not admit that he was an angel, he had to be a servant of the Lord. He just had to be! I hurried out of my cell to the room of Sister Madeline, and knocked upon the door. The Reverend Mother came walking down the hallway and I bowed to her.

"Sister Madeline is in confinement," the Reverend Mother frowned, touching my shoulder. I bowed and nodded.

"Will she be allowed to return to us soon?" I asked quietly.

"She has asked for seclusion, Sister Sookie. I do not know when she will ask to return to the common prayer."

"My heart is with her," I frowned.

"She will be in our thoughts and prayers, Sister."

I turned away from Sister Madeline's door and returned to my own. Sister Julia came hurriedly down the hall of the convent and bumped into me as I reached for the door to my cell. She was panting from her run, and she pushed me inside my room, then shut the door behind us.

"What is it?" I asked her.

"Sister Madeline is in confinement!" She squeaked.

"I know. I went to visit with her, and the Reverend Mother told me."

"Well, she isn't the only one! Sister Eleanor and Sister Margaret are in confinement as well!"

"What?" I stared at her incredulously. "Why?"

"I don't know! I only know that they're there, and that they asked for seclusion!"

"That's awfully strange," I frowned. I remembered their thoughts, how upset they had been.

"I have to go. I will see you tomorrow, Sister Sookie! Sleep well!" Sister Julia hugged me and ran out of the room. I watched her go, and I felt heavy. Why had so many of our sisters removed themselves from common prayer? They had seemed so saddened, hurt by something I did not understand. I sat down on the edge of my bed and prayed in silence.

I woke up to the sound of rattling against my cell door. The room was dark, and I had been asleep for hours. My body was tired from slumping against the wall of my cell rather than the straw mattress of my cot. The door sprang open suddenly and Father Henry stepped into my room. I could see the shadow of his face in the sliver of moonlight that peeked through my small rectangular window. His robes rustled against his legs as he walked over to me. I got up off the mattress, thinking perhaps he might be in need of my assistance.

"Father, it is quite late," I whispered in the darkness.

"So beautiful, such a young beautiful girl," he hissed. His hands dove out from under his robe and snatched at my wrists. I yelped and he let go of me to cover my mouth. His thoughts flew into me, and I could not have pushed them out if I tried. Everything was a spiral, like a heavy summer storm. I heard him admit to things I didn't understand, want things I couldn't express or explain. They all sounded horrible and wrong, and I fought against him. His massive body shoved me up against the wall and threw up the skirts of my habit.

"No!" I cried. "I won't let you!"

"Shush!" He growled at me. He sounded like a monster, a demon, not the Father of our Order. I squirmed and kicked at him. More of his thoughts flew into me. I was being assaulted from every direction and I couldn't think straight. I prayed for my angel, for God to deliver me from this place, but no answer came.

"I'm the Virgin bride of Christ!" I screamed. "You can't do this to me!" I clawed at his face and robes. I ripped the cross from his neck and it clattered to the floor.

"Shut up, you stupid little bitch!"

"You! You did this to Sister Madeline! You did this to Sister Eleanor and Sister Margaret! You tortured them and hurt them! You forced their silence by telling them they would be cast out of the church!" I could barely separate his thoughts out into any kind of coherency, but I managed a little bit. "You told them you were Christ on Earth! You enjoyed their pain! You are a blasphemer!"

"How do you know these things, girl? Have you spoken to Sister Madeline?"

"No, I haven't. My sisters are in seclusion! God has spoken to me!" I was spitting at him, screaming, tears rolling down my face. My skin was hot and cold to the touch. He'd hit my cheek so many times that it was swelling and pained.

"God has spoken to you, or you have consorted with the Devil and brought him into your bed? You whore!" He grabbed me suddenly by the arm and dragged me from my cell. My feet skidded and slid along the stone floor, and I was glad I hadn't removed my slippers. I yanked at his hold on me, but I couldn't escape. My wails awakened half the convent, and he threw me onto the floor in the midst of the chapel. My sisters assembled in their nightgowns and the Reverend Mother addressed Father Henry.

"What is the meaning of this?" She roared in that scary way she has.

"This girl is a consort to the Devil! She pretends to read the inner most thoughts of her sisters, to wreck havoc upon their minds, to alter their prayers! She has tried to do this thing to me tonight! She called me into her cell and attempted to seduce me!"

"I didn't, Reverend Mother, I swear!" I wept. I pushed myself to my feet and grabbed onto the nearest pew for support. "I was sleeping and Father Henry came into my room! He was trying to hurt me!"

"What about your sisters in seclusion, Sister Sookie? Have you read their thoughts? Have you plagued their minds? Do you know why they are in seclusion?"

"I haven't… I haven't plagued their minds!" I whimpered.

"Do you know why they are in seclusion, Sister Sookie?" The Reverend Mother yelled at me, bringing her hand down and slapping me across my bruised cheek.

"I do," I admitted. I could not lie.

"And how do you admit to this knowledge?"

"God has given me the gift to help my sisters, to know their thoughts," I murmured in all honesty.

"That is sacrilege. You do not know the workings of the Lord. He does not come to you and give you gifts. The Devil comes to you and gives you gifts, to sway you away from the Lord, our God. Have you consorted with the Devil? Has he made you his bride?"

"No, Reverend Mother! No!"

"You are a liar! You admit to reading the thoughts of your sisters! Only the Devil can read our thoughts and poison our minds! You are a witch! After all that we have done for you, you repay our kindness with evil. You are the spitting image of your no-account brother! Father Henry, bring the guards. Get her out of here this instant, before she can do any more harm!"

A parade of military men came to the church and grabbed me by the arms. I fought with every bit of strength, but a small woman is no match for the Royal Guard. I was heaved into the back of a cart with four other women, all of them chained and in their night clothes. I dropped onto my knees on the straw and wept anew. I stared over the edge of the cart at the empty night. Half-hidden in the darkness, I saw a man, dressed almost entirely in black. His white gold hair fell loose over his shoulders. He wiped his mouth with his forearm and watched me. His brows creased together with concern. When he drew his arm away, I saw that his mouth was dark red, as though he'd been drinking the richest kind of wine. He was my angel, and he would keep me safe.

I was dropped unceremoniously upon the floor of a prison cell, my habit stripped away and replaced with a dirty and moth-eaten night gown. I shivered upon the floor, surrounded by other women in similar states of disarray, but upon looking at them, I realized that I was the only nun among them. These women were whores or work women, maids or country folk. Two of them were branded for being caught as prostitutes, and another had been marked as a slave. I shuddered in a corner off on my own and tucked my braid of unshorn hair into the back of my night clothes. I closed my eyes in prayer, and I begged for my angel to come. Morning came with only the dull slapping of my church bells and the rustling of hungry prisoners. I placed my hands under a drip of water from the sinking ceiling to wash my face. I clasped my hands in prayer, and I felt the unmistakable headache of keeping the thoughts around me at bay. Whether or not God had given me this gift, I could not use it now. I could barely keep myself straight, let alone give comfort to anyone else. I remembered my angel, his kiss, his voice.

"Get up," a man grunted. I opened my eyes just as a hand wrenched me to my feet and dragged me from the cell. A few of the women I'd slept with got to their feet and scrambled to the bars to stretch their hands out to me. I clasped them as I was yanked away.

The prison was a massive place, all gloomy stone walls and dripping ceilings. The halls echoed with the screams of the tortured, and I knew their collective thoughts were those of escape and release and death. I prayed to God to grant them peace, and then I was tossed among them. My night clothes were removed and I was standing stark naked in a room full of men, priests and guards. I covered myself as best I could and turned my head away in shame.

"You have slept with the Devil. You have consorted with Satan and made him your Master. You have used his magic to plague the sisters of Saint Dominic. You have seduced a priest into your bed. You are a witch." The priest, a Franciscan by the look of him, read from a parchment. When he was finished, he rolled up the list and tucked it into his robes.

"No!" I cried. "I am innocent! I am only a nun, a child of God!"

"You will confess. If you confess to your crimes, you may be pardoned by the King. If you do not confess, you will be judged by the Church, the King, and the Lord, our God. Then, you will be put to death."

"I'm not a witch! I am a nun!" I cried. Hands fell upon me again and threw me against a wooden stockade. My wrists and neck were laid upon a carved slab of wood, and closed over with a second, similarly carved section. I was forced to lie exposed, and my knees shook with fear. Tears fell down my face.

"You are a witch! Confess!" The priest roared at me, and the whip came down. It sang through the air and cracked before striking my flesh. My skin burned and I cried out, more from the shock than the pain. I knew the pain was coming, and I didn't doubt it would be horrible. I bit my lip to keep from making any other noise.

"Confess, you stupid girl!" The whip came down again, faster and harder than before. My flesh depressed under the strip of leather and swelled up again when it fell away. There was a rhythm to the whipping, five lashes and a second break so that the priest could urge me to confess while my thoughts tried to collect themselves. The Franciscan was enjoying the torture, enjoying the revelation of my naked body. He was rejoicing in my pain.

"We will not stop until you confess," he growled, almost begging me not to speak up. His eyebrows turned down so his face looked like a demon's, and his eyes sparkled in the dim firelight. If ever there were Hell on Earth, this might have been it.

I would not speak, would not confess, and when the moon finally rose, I was thrown back into my cell with the remainder of the accused. Blood rolled down my back, and every part of me was pins and needles. I remembered my brother, Jason, once whipped for disobedience when we were children. I had helped Sister Mary put cold cloths on his bloody skin. There were no such amenities in prison.

"Come," whispered a small voice. I looked up to see one of my cellmates hold out her hand to me. Her face was sweet and elderly, her voice raspy and quiet. I crawled to her and placed my shaking hand in hers. "What is your name?"

"Sookie," I replied with a shaking, unsteady voice. I wiped tears from my eyes with the back of my dirty hand. My wrists were bruised and cut.

"I'm Angela, and this is Mary Ann," the old woman said, pointed to a short-haired, sad looking woman next to her. Mary Ann had the brand of prostitution on her breast.

"How did you come to be here?" I shivered. I pressed a hand on Mary Ann's wrist and she looked down at my fingers. She was raped, and then accused of witchcraft by the rapist's wife. Though I was in pain, I pulled her into my arms and hugged her tightly.

"I am a widow, and some of the cows in our village stopped producing milk and then died. I was accused of witchcraft, of trying to hurt their livelihoods." Angela sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "The Lord teaches us to forgive those that mean to hurt us. They know not what they do."

"I was a nun," I sighed quietly.

"You are still a nun, child," Angela smiled. She pulled my hands into hers. Her skin was rough like a chicken's plucked flesh, and her kind smile reminded me of the Reverend Mother. "Do not let them break you down. They believe they are doing the work of the Lord, but confessing only gives them power over your soul."

"I couldn't confess. I could never lie." I sighed. Angela tucked me against her shoulder while the silent Mary Ann tended to my wounds with the damp hem of her night clothes. We huddled together in a triangle of comfort throughout the night, lifting our voices in prayer.

They retrieved me in the morning, as light touched the edge of the window, and I heard the strangled beating of my bells. I looked into the sweet faces of my new friends, my sisters, and I walked proudly to the site of my suffering. For the second day in a row, I heard the haunted screams of the tortured, the cries of the unfortunate. I opened my heart to their thoughts and I hoped God would hear them through me. I hoped He would give them peace, as I longed to give them peace.

"Are you ready to confess?" The priest asked me. His lips curved into a lurid sneering smile. I shook my head.

"I am not guilty of heresy. I believe in the Holy Mother Church. Are you ready to enjoy my suffering?"

"I do not enjoy suffering, witch. I enjoy penance." He lied easily, as though he had been lying all his life. Rough hands removed my clothes, but I no longer felt the shame of my nakedness. I was secure in my beliefs, in my strength and my conviction. I was tossed onto a table and tied down. Splinters tore at the wounds on my back. Slices of wood were strapped around my legs, with wedges shoved between my bound shins. I looked down at the new method of my destruction, and I swallowed the lump of fear in my throat. I stared up at the damp ceiling and I remembered my angel, Eric Northman. He would recover me from this place. I could die here if I knew I would not be buried here.

"Your sisters and your priest have told us of your wickedness, witch! You have only to confess your sins and these tortures will end! Repent!"

"I am not guilty." I replied through clenched teeth. A great mallet came down and beat upon one of the wedges of wood. It dropped down between the tightly tied wooden frames and sent jabbing pains up my legs. I wanted to scream, to cry, to relieve my pain with sound, but I couldn't give in.

"Repent! Confess your sins! You have lain with the Devil!"

"I am innocent." I grunted. The mallet came down again. I bit back my screams. Eric's arms wrapped around me, and his lips brushed against my forehead. He was hovering over me, filling me with calm love.

"You have placed the Devil's influence on your sisters!" The mallet came down a third time. I couldn't hold back a wail of pain. The sound of breaking bones echoed in my head. Tears stung my eyes.

"Eric," I whimpered.

"Confess! Repent! You have seduced a priest, you filthy whore!" Again the hammer, and again my screams of pain bounced from the walls and filled the room. They were almost inhuman, and I would have doubted they had come from me if I had not known it to be true. My voice was hoarse when they unstrapped me. My legs felt more than agony, more than pain. I looked down and regretted it instantly. Every inch of skin below my knees was black and purple, smeared with blood. I retched and bile filled my mouth. I swallowed it down again with great effort.

My torturers dragged me by my arms from the room, my legs dangling uselessly behind me, my knees scraping the stone floor. Beyond the great doors into the enclosed courtyard of the prison, I could hear the cold November rain hitting the slate. I was yanked outside, into the twilight, under the heavy storm clouds. I was tied to the pillory, balanced on my broken legs, hanging by my arms. The fresh rain stung my wounds, and yet I felt the grace of God in each drop. I lifted my head to the sky and drank the plentiful water. The whip was merciless on my wet skin.

"Repent! If you do not, you will burn in the morning!" The priest cried into the night. I could see hellfire in his eyes.

"I am not guilty." I said as calmly as I could.

"We will not kill you before we burn you, witch! You will suffocate and you will burn and you will die! You are not a martyr! God has cast you off!"

"He hasn't." The rumbling voice of my angel filled my ears, and I looked to where the whip had ceased falling. I heard a loud crack, a stumble, and a scream. I could not see them die, but I knew it to be true. The tortured woman inside me rejoiced.

"Eric," I whispered through my tears. The chains of the pillory fell away. I thought I would crumple to the ground, but instead my tired body melted into the outstretched arms of my golden-haired savior.

"Sookie," he murmured apologetically. He lifted me as gently as he could manage, but even my bitten lip could not prevent me from crying. We seemed to rise into the air, and I let my eyes fall closed. Every part of me was filled with exhaustion.

"You are an angel. You really are."

"Sookie," Eric whispered near my ear. I opened my eyes suddenly. Pain spread through me like a grass field on fire. I couldn't hold back the scream even if I had realized I was providing it. My agonized voice bounced from every corner of a small room with covered windows. My angel did not back away. He did not shush me nor scold me.

"The pain will be over soon, Sookie," he said. His fingers stroked my hair from my face. He lightly kissed my forehead. I realized he was lying next to me, and my broken body was tucked into his arm. He'd placed me atop a mattress, the softest mattress I had ever felt. I wished that I could enjoy it more. The massive bed had a canopy of brocade draperies that matched the heavy curtains over the windows.

"If I die, will you bury me at the convent?" I asked him. I realized my voice was strangely soft, that it hurt to speak. I decided to avoid doing it too much.

"You will not die, Sookie." He sounded certain, and because he was an angel, I figured he would know when I was to die. I took his word for it. I looked up at his face. His eyes were full of an emotion I did not recognize, and his pale pink lips were pursed. He lifted his free arm to his mouth. "Close your eyes, Sookie, and open your mouth."

"Why?" I asked. For the first time, I noticed that my lips were dry and sore. I licked them with my tongue, but that only made them hurt more.

"I need to make you well again, so that you do not die. Do as I say, Sookie."

"I'm afraid," I whispered.

"I'm afraid too, Sookie. I'm afraid of losing you. I do not know why, but I am drawn to you. Yield to me, Sookie. Close your eyes."

At last, I obeyed him. Something in his voice, in his manner, and in his strained patience made me want to listen. I remained afraid, worried about what he would do to me, about what manner of healing involved my blind obedience. My lips wobbled nervously as I opened my mouth. I heard a crunching sound and his wrist brushed my chin. Hot, heavy liquid touched my tongue. It tasted the way rusting iron smelled, and even though I was weak, I fought against him.

"Yield to me, Sookie," Eric breathed. The arm supporting my shoulders squeezed me gently. The taste of the liquid changed, from rust to wine. I drank from the source as though I had an unquenched thirst, as though I'd been without water for weeks. Eric dragged his arm away by force, and I felt his mouth upon my skin again. He was even colder now.

"You need to rest, Sookie," Eric said. He removed his arm from under my shoulders, and though I still felt the pain of movement, I did not feel it enough to voice it. How strange, I thought. It was the miracle of my angel.

"Will you not stay with me?" I pleaded. Eric only smiled. He tucked the excess blankets around my naked body.

"I must eat, and you must sleep. I will return before the sun rises." With that, he stepped from the room and shut the door. The lock clicked. I stared at the heavy curtains and traced their patterns with my eyes until I fell asleep. I dreamed of the shining halo around my angel's white-gold head. He was the picture of heavenly beauty.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Here you go, part 2 of Angel of Death. I know a lot of people were looking forward to this, so I hope it lives up to your expectations! ~AAV_

**The Angel of Death**

I don't know how long I slept, but when I awakened, the room was dark. A few candles burned on the table beside the bed. I could still feel the pain, but at the same time, I had the sense that I was healing. My shins throbbed where the bones had shattered, and my back ached from the lash of the whip. I pressed my elbow into the crisp white sheet and pushed myself up slowly. I stared as far as the halos of the candles would allow. Brocade curtains covered the windows. The door to my right opened and I saw the glowing head of my angel.

"You're awake," he said in a deep but quiet voice. He shut the door and placed a plate of food on the table beside the bed. I hadn't been hungry, but as soon as I saw the portions of cheese and meat and bread, I found myself salivating. "You need to eat, keep up your strength."

"Thank you," I murmured. Eric arranged a few of the pillows behind my neck and I leaned against them. I took the bread from the plate and pulled it into pieces, spreading crumbs over the blanket that covered me.

"How are you feeling?" Eric pushed the blanket away from my bare legs and looked down at them. I stared as well. How could he examine my flesh in the darkness? No matter. He was an angel, and he was special. My skin was black and blue and there was evidence of cuts and scrapes. It pained me more to look at them than to actually feel the process of renewal.

"Will you tell me what you did to me? I should be dead now." I pushed pieces of bread into my mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Eric covered my legs again with the blanket. He walked to the table and, from the shadows, pulled out a package tied up with brown paper and string.

"I will in time, Sookie, when you're ready to hear it. Right now, we must get you dressed. I have just come from the marketplace. They have put posters for your arrest all over Paris."

Eric put the package down and pulled, from the breast of his jacket, a roll of crisp parchment paper. He unfurled it and held it out so that I could see it. The posted named me, and said that I was guilty for crimes against the Church, crimes against the Crown of France, heresy, and escape from the confines of the prison. At the bottom of the parchment, in smaller script, the jailers had written that I had been excommunicated from the church. I was no longer a nun, no longer a member of the church that had raised me. Hot tears fell down my cheeks. I lost my appetite. I placed the remaining hunk of cheese on the plate and ignored the portion of meat. I ripped the paper from his hands and tore it up. But I couldn't make the truth go away.

"Sookie," Eric frowned. He'd been opening the brown paper package, but he abandoned the task now. Instead, he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled my sore upper body into his arms. He kept the blankets wrapped around me so we would not be indecent. I know he took the moment to examine the bloody wounds on my back, but I did not comment. He moved me back down against the pillows and touched my face and hair.

"God will shun me. The church has shunned me." I wept, feeling completely alone. And then I realized something profound and horrible, as horrible as being thrown from the feet of the Lord. "You'll leave me now! A servant of God would never assist an excommunicated nun!"

"Sookie," Eric frowned. He cradled my face in his hand. "I will not leave you. You will remain in my care. And trust me when I say that no matter the position of the Church, God loves you and will always be with you." He took up the package again and removed from it a simple brown dress with a white shawl.

"I apologize for the inappropriateness of this task, but I must get you dressed. We must take our leave of the city." He looked down at me, covered in blankets, nude underneath. It was more than inappropriate, but I could not dress myself.

"Can we return to the church? I need to say goodbye to my sisters." I looked up at him with pleading eyes. He shook his head and pulled my useless legs gently out from under the blanket. I whimpered in pain. He gestured for me to lift my arms over my head.

"It isn't safe, Sookie. They'll be looking for you now. We need to leave France if we are to keep you out of the hands of the Church." With that, he seemed to end the discussion. He lifted the dress over my arms and pulled it down over my shoulders and breasts. I tucked the shawl into the neck of the simple gown and buttoned the bodice up. I had never worn anything but my habit, not since I was a young girl. These clothes were strange and showed more of my figure than seemed appropriate for a nun. Then I remembered I wasn't one anyone. My lower lip trembled.

"Please Sookie, finish eating," Eric sighed. He held up the plate but I shook my head. I was not hungry and I could not think about consuming any more food. Eric frowned and abandoned the plate on the table.

"Do you have paper and ink?" I asked, hopeful.

"We don't have time. When we get out of the city, you may write to them." He looked exasperated with my constant demands. I frowned and gave up on the prospect of writing to them. They were my only family, and now I was going to lose them all. I had already lost them when they sent me to the prison.

"I know you are still in pain," Eric said to me. He had finished putting papers and money into his vest and pockets. "But we cannot arouse suspicions. If you are going to scream, hold it back. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I breathed. Whatever he was about to do, I knew it would be unpleasant. I bit my lip in advance. Eric's hands dipped underneath me and he lifted me against his chest. I wailed in agony and dug my fingernails into his flesh. He did not comment on whatever pain I might be putting upon him. With tears glazing my eyes, I wrapped my arms around his neck and he jumped through the brocade curtains and out the window.

We went sailing through the night until we arrived at the gates out of the city. Eric held me against him tightly, and I leaned my chin on his shoulder. The line out of the city was long, and most everyone was on foot. There were a few carts and carriages, some people on horseback, but everyone else was on the ground.

"I have papers for us. Just keep your head down and look sick. If anyone asks, you are my maid and you recently fell from your horse." I nodded. Behind us, I could see an older gentleman with a pistol, a hunting rifle, and a cart of dead game. I shuddered seeing the heads of deer rotting in the cart, their blood staining the wood. He raised his head from the ground to look at me and cocked the barrel of his weapon. I have never seen a gun before and only know of them through books. So, when he aimed the rifle at me, I did not think to say a word. That is, until it fired.

Eric dropped me on the ground when the bullet pierced his flesh. I whimpered but held back my cry of pain, as he had instructed me. Eric held his gut where the ball of lead sat inside him. His hands seeped with blood. I reached out to him, to help him. He swore obscenities under his breath and stumbled sideways. The hunter swept forward as people looked on, helpless and only vaguely interested. He yanked me forward, I suppose with the intention of pulling me to my feet. Since I could not walk, that was difficult to do. When he finally had me up, crying desperately, I heard the echoing sound a healing bone break under my weight. I couldn't help myself. I screamed aloud. The man tried shuffling me over his shoulders.

"Drop her," Eric growled. His voice sounded inhuman, like an animal protecting its prey. The hunter dropped me like a bag of leaves and I fell onto the ground, smacking my hip. I laid down right where he left me and wept. I lifted my head to watch as Eric dragged the hunter away from the crowd of people exiting the city. I could hear them shuffling in the darkness. Then, by chance, they fell beneath a stream of moonlight. Eric had the man bent at an odd angle, his neck twisted to one side, his body writhing. My angel bent his head to the man's throat and bared the most enormous teeth, slender and sharp. He sank those teeth into the neck of the man. The hunter groaned and squirmed. He closed his eyes. And then he fell onto the ground in a heap.

"No," I whispered in horror. "No, please." I felt dizzy and sick with the sight of the event. Eric returned to me, but I tried to back away in the dirt. My legs were broken, old wounds and new, and I could not get far.

"No, no, no," I repeated as I tried to back away from him. Most eyes turned away from us. Commoners don't get involved in the affairs of the wealthy. They don't even get involved in the affairs of their neighbors.

"Sookie," Eric frowned. He descended upon me and lifted me into his arms. I struggled, crying, trying to get away though I had no where to go. My world spun, around and around. I couldn't think straight. Had I just seen what I thought I had seen? Was he planning to do that to me? Was Eric an angel or a demon? The edges of my vision blurred and blackened. I took a shallow breath and shut my eyes.

I woke up beside him, on the firm seat of a covered carriage. I took one look at his pale face in the moonlight, his halo of white-gold hair, his tender blue eyes, and the memory of the murder came rushing back to me like the sting of the whip on my back. I pressed myself against the door of the carriage and clawed at the door. Was I going to die here the way that man had died? I shrieked in my fear. The carriage driver coughed somewhere above our heads. Eric grabbed me and placed his hand over my mouth, choking off the sound of my peril.

"I am not an angel," Eric said quietly. "But I will not harm you. I have saved your life twice now, Sookie. Put your faith in me. I want to keep you safe and alive."

"Why? Why did you…do that…to him?" I murmured through his hand.

"Well, if you recall, he tried to run off with you, and he broke your leg. Again. Also, he shot me with a rifle."

"But you…you bit him."

"I told you I would not speak of this until you were ready, but it seems we do not have a choice now." Eric sighed. He took his hand in mine and turned it over to kiss the palm. I watched him warily. "I am a vampire, Sookie. Have you heard that term before?"

"No," I frowned.

"Vampires are known mostly among the nomadic peoples and gypsies of the Carpathian Mountains. The myth is not as common among Germanic peoples. I am not sure why, but I gather it has much to do with the spread of folklore. At any rate, a vampire is a being that was once a man, died, and was reborn as a magical creature. To live, the vampire drinks the blood of living things. It cannot dwell in the daytime or it will die. It can be killed by driving a wooden stake into the heart. Otherwise, it lives on for all time. As it ages, its thirst for the blood of the living decreases. There are many myths about my kind, that we are minions of the Devil or that we cannot enter a house of worship. Some believe that we cannot reflect in a mirror. These myths are part of the folklore that surrounds my kind. It helps us to survive, to prove that we are not these things."

Eric looked down at me, and I'm certain my eyes were wide as dinner plates. He touched my hand and I pulled it back fearfully. He seemed to sigh sadly and he did not make a move to grab me or touch me again. We rode on in silence until the carriage stopped and the driver let us out. I had to trust Eric, only because I could not walk. I was reluctant to let him handle me, but he pulled me into his grasp. Dust kicked up around his boots as we went from inn to inn in the early morning, an hour before daybreak. At last, we found an inn with the lights lit. Eric rented a room for the night, claiming me as his wife, and we went up to the room in silence.

He set me down on the bed and removed his vest. He took off his ruffled shirt and his boots, leaving only the stockings and pants of his dress. I wondered how long it had been since he had last had a chance to change his clothes. I shook the thought from my mind. It doesn't matter, Sookie! He's evil! He's a servant of Satan! He's a demon! Eric laid out on the bed and shut his eyes. He seemed to fall asleep immediately, and the sleep was a comatose one. I reached over and touched his arm as the sun began to rise. I could not see it through the heavy curtains drawn over the windows, but I knew it to be true. I stared at the demon beside me, a man that had killed a hunter in Paris by drinking his blood.

It was my duty, as a child of the Church, to cast Satan's minions from the world. That was how I had been raised. It was all that I knew. Though I had never heard of a vampire before, Eric's description sounded hideous and horrible. I could excuse his good deeds by saying they were the temptations of the Devil, trying to lure me into his camp. Look at all that had happened since I had met Eric! I had been accused of witchcraft, tortured, accused of heresy, treason against the crown, and crimes against the Crown! I had been excommunicated from the Holy Mother Church! God himself had abandoned me!

And yet, I couldn't bring myself to perpetrate the same crimes that he had committed. I stared at him in his comatose slumber and I considered doing the very things he had told me would kill him. I thought about crawling on my hands and backside over to the window and thrusting open the curtains. I considered finding a piece of wood in the room, sharpening it with anything I could find, staking him through the heart. But I couldn't. I couldn't do it. I couldn't take his life from him. It was not Eric that had led me to destruction. It was Eric that had saved me from pain and death. I was accused as a witch because a priest attacked me and several of my sisters in the middle of the night. I was accused of witchcraft because I had been given a gift from my Lord. I would have died under the hands of my accusers if it had not been for Eric, my angel.

I stared at his beautiful face, his pale creamy skin, his white-gold hair, and I knew that no matter what he claimed about vampires and magical beings, he was still my angel. He was looking out for me and protecting me from harm. He wanted to keep me, heal me, guide me. And I wanted to let him. God would not have brought us together if Eric was a minion of the Devil. I decided right then and there that we would stay together, and when he slept, I would do my best to protect him.

I spent the day sleeping, and I awakened to a hand on my cheek, the whispered sound of my name on my angel's lips. I blinked and stared at him, resisting the urge to be defensive. I was okay, I told myself. It was just Eric: vampire, possible demon, magical thing, and angel. He placed a hand under my back and helped me to sit up. I did so slowly and painfully. The position I'd fallen asleep in had been less than comfortable.

"I thought about killing you," I said as soon as he'd placed the pillows behind my back. He looked down at my freshly broken leg.

"And yet, I am still here," he replied simply.

"I couldn't do it. You rescued me. You saved me. I couldn't kill you. I don't care what you say about vampires and demons and whatever else. You're my angel."

"If it pleases you to think that, I'll let you go on believing it."

"It does," I nodded firmly.

"Sookie," he sighed. He sat down beside me and looked into my face. I found the deep blue of his eyes and swam into them. "I am a vampire. My heart no longer beats. But something compels me to be with you, to keep you from harm, to guard you. I don't know where that desire comes from. I am very old. I have not been human for over five hundred years. I have not had compassion for living souls in all the years that I have been a vampire. But I am drawn to you. I will never hurt you, and I will do my best not to let anyone else hurt you either."

"Thank you," I whispered. He reached across me and stroked my cheek.

"I need to feed you again. The wound in your leg will rot your flesh if I do not. You may close your eyes if you like. I won't be offended."

I closed my eyes, and I felt the burning warmth of Eric's blood on my tongue. I don't know how I didn't recognize the source of it before. The rusty taste and the sticky thickness of it were reminiscent of exactly what the substance was. I hungered for it almost as soon as I got used to the taste, and that hunger frightened me more than the concept of the thing. I shut my mouth and turned my head away with effort. I felt a few drops of blood fall onto my dress. Then he pulled his arm away.

"You should have taken more," he said quietly.

"I wanted it too much. That scares me. If I drink too much of you, will I become like you?" I couldn't look at him, but I kept my eyes closed and faced in his direction.

"No. We must exchange blood for that to happen. I must drink from you until you are near death, and then you must drink from me." He paused and I listened to him rise and shuffle with his clothing. "We must continue on our journey, Sookie. There is much road we must cover."

We traveled through the night on horseback to a village near the city of Rouen. Because we were so close to the city, and because it was nearly dawn and we had to stop, Eric bustled me into the closest inn to avoid the stares of others. I pressed myself against him to hide from any possible onlookers going to work in the pre-morning hours. Once we were inside, he found me some food and shut the curtains of our room on the first floor. Because of the vampire's blood in my system, I was feeling better. I could hobble, slowly, around the room, despite aches and pains. In the afternoon, pained with hunger, I stumbled into the inn's kitchen to find a meal. I had a few coins in my pocket, just enough for a little cheese and bread and a mug of beer. I paid the cook and took my plate back to our room to eat. There were voices there, voiced thoughts that lingered in my head like strained whispers. I blocked them out as best I could and shut the door heavily behind me.

Sunset arrived sooner than I had expected. I was just closing my eyes to drift off for a nap when I heard a vicious rapping on the window. With the sun still up, I could not open it. I could not risk harming my angel. But the rapping continued. It was an angry horrible sound, and I thought if they kept at it, the pane of glass might break all together! I hobbled toward the window to see what was the matter when the glass shattered and a flaming heap of cow's dung came flying at me. It smashed upon the drapes around the bed and set them aflame. I screamed in terror and tore away from the bed. Eric was still sleeping, the comatose sleep of the living dead.

Black smoke filled the little room. I could hear yelling, shouting, more screaming, and the persistent thoughts of the townspeople. I could decipher only one expression from their combined thoughts and the process of deconstructing it was so painful that I felt dizzy. They thought I was a witch, the witch of Paris, and I had to be exterminated. I fumbled toward Eric as the bed began to smolder and spit ash. He mumbled when I tried to rouse him.

"Eric!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. His eyes bounced open and he was awake. Behind the curtains, the sun had dipped beneath the fields. It was officially evening.

"God damn them!" Eric yelled. He threw on his shirt and vest, leaving them unbuttoned. He bent his arms around me and, as the ceiling was engulfed and crumbling, he carried me off toward the door to our room. I was coughing and struggling to breathe but taking in only smoke and ash. My mouth tasted like chimney soot and my skin felt raw and dry. I clawed at Eric as I tried to draw in breath, but I could not get anything but hot fire. Eric threw his shoulder heavily against the door but it would not open. The ceiling began to fall apart, sections of it bouncing toward the floor.

"I can't…I can't…" I choked as I struggled to speak. Eric had had enough with the door. He held me against him and pushed my face into his bare skin. Even in the dank hotness of the room, his skin was cool and comforting. I felt the pressure of smashing into the window, heard the screams of the people below, and listened to their terror stricken thoughts as we barreled onto the ground. I was thrown over the horse's saddle and my angel jumped into the seat behind me. We galloped off together into the night, and I was glad for the cold.

"Wake up, child," I heard as I stirred from my sleep. I opened my eyes to a trickle of warm sunlight on my face and the handsome wrinkled eyes of an elderly woman with a rag folded around her hair.

"Where's Eric?" I asked instantly. I sat up. Every part of my body ached. My chest felt heavy and each breath of air was difficult but rewarding.

"Your companion is asleep in the barn, child. He is a vampire." She spoke simply and calmly. I was shocked by how easily she spoke about Eric's otherness.

"How do you know?" I stared.

"My sister is a vampire. She lives in the barn as well. It is a safe place. Do not worry. Your companion seems much older though. He is kind. Do you give him your blood freely?"

"Do I…?" I blinked. "No, no. He doesn't…he's never…"

"Ah. Interesting. What purpose do you serve for him then?"

"He's my…friend," I said quietly. How else could I describe it?

"I see. Well, you are welcome to remain here until you are healed enough to travel. Your companion will be well again at sunset, but it looks as though you have been through quite a lot of damage."

I was set to stay the night with the woman, whom I learned was named Jean, and her sister, Marie, but when Eric awakened, he brought me to the stable so we could speak in private. He kept his voice low and asked me not to speak at all. Surprised, I obeyed his wishes. I stroked the mane of our loyal horse while he whispered to me.

"She wishes to feed you to her sister," Eric said. I had to struggle to hear him but as soon as I did, I covered my mouth with both hands and displayed my horror with my eyes.

"Marie is a young vampire, only a few years old, and she is having difficulty controlling her desire to feed. I do not doubt that she has killed much of the livestock here, maybe even some of the children, and likely every traveler who has gone through this nook. We are leaving."

We walked the horse from the stable, holding my shawl over his eyes to avoid spooking him and thus making noise. As soon as we were a half-mile from the town, we got back into the saddle and continued toward the coast. It was so close that I could smell the salt of the sea. Eric wrapped his arms around me as we rode through the night. His lips touched the back of my neck and I sank into him like a stone in a pond.

"We are going to England, Sookie. My home is in Kent, near the shore. I know it is not France, but I assure you, you will like it there. It will be nice to be home at last." Though I could not see his face, I knew he was smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

We traveled the roads by night, stopping daily in small towns across northern France, populated by French country farmers, their wives, their children. I peeked from the curtains of inns in the mid-afternoon, watched women carry wash pails and baskets of fresh bread. Children, covered in dust and mud, walked to and from the town well or the market. Men came home from the fields at midday to eat with their families. Most of these people had never been to Paris, never seen the great bells of the cathedrals, never witnessed the destruction of the Inquisition. I admired their ignorance, blessed as it was. Most of these people, in their lifetimes, would never make it beyond their county seat, let alone to the doorsteps of the King of France. Among them, there might be one pious man, one man who would walk the lonely road of pilgrimage, to the great cathedrals of France. But most of these simple people simply didn't have the time.

I admired them, their dusty faces and wrinkled eyes. The children had rosy cheeks and happy smiles. The women were bosomed and blossoming, like roses in our simple parish garden. They seemed like happy people, happy people born into simplicity and poverty. I'd been born into poverty too, a different kind of poverty. I recalled the sisters, my sisters, and left tears on plain wooden windowsills from Rouen to Calais. Each time Eric packed his bag, giving the sun time to set beneath the horizon, I pitied my own misfortune. Couldn't I trade my life with one of these simple peasants? Couldn't I turn myself over, change my life in their hands?

"Sookie?" Eric spoke gently at my back. I set myself down on the leather seat of the carriage and covered my lap with a scrap of bear fur. I smoothed my fingers through the soft pelt, tucked the ends of the hide around my thighs. I lifted my eyes to him, acknowledging the man that had rescued me, saved me, protected me. It was a quiet night. His pale face shone gloriously, like the shining white moon above our heads.

"You're hobbling, child," he frowned, following me into the carriage. He shut the door and rapped on the ceiling to give signal to the driver. I heard the horse rustle, felt the rumble of the carriage as we sped further toward Calais.

"It's getting better," I frowned awkwardly. The truth was, my leg was getting better but in an unusual way. The knee kicked out in an unusual direction, and the bones hurt at the shin and thigh and hip. Walking was painful and difficult.

"Let me see it, Sookie," Eric urged me. He touched the hide across my legs and pulled it aside. I grasped his hand, surprised by his forwardness. I could only vaguely recall the intimate moments we'd shared, and then, then I had been so much closer to peril. Now I had my wits about me.

"It is all right, Sir, I promise," I whispered, my voice trembling beyond my control. Eric withdrew his hand with some reluctance.

"I am not a knight, Sookie. You do not have to call me "Sir"."

"What is your title?" I asked timidly. It occurred to me that I didn't even know. I wanted to know.

"I am a nobleman, a Baron," Eric said thoughtfully, as if he'd had to think about it for a moment before answering.

"A Lord," I whispered. "So I must call you my Lord,"

"Not when we are alone, child. Only when we are in the company of my staff. Until then, you may simply call me Eric. Now, tell me why you are limping. It shows not only in your gait but in your face. It causes you pain."

"It is gnarled," I murmured, unable to lie to him. I pushed back a corner of the wrap and lifted the dull brown skirt covering my bare legs. My skin was bruised in some places, pink in others.

"You will be crippled, Sookie. After all you have been through," he frowned, touching my hand. I shook my head and a few wisps of yellow fell around my face.

"No. You saved me. I am not crippled, only bent. God has blessed me, leaving only a reminder of my trauma. I am well loved, well looked after. I could not be happier."

"When we arrive in Kent, you will have the best doctors. You will not take my healing, but perhaps you will allow them to work their own magic."

I slept on much of the carriage ride, and when I awakened, we were in the next quaint country town on the road to the sea. He slept like death itself, still and cold, behind black curtains covering heavy glass windows. I thought about magic, the magic of healers and the magic of death. This man, this angel, was magic. What made him work? How did God reconcile this creature of the night?

"How long have you been a creature of the night?" I asked as the carriage scurried away through the long evening.

"Why do you ask?" He smiled at me, his blissful blue eyes twinkling with light.

"I am only curious, my Lord,"

"I have been dead for approximately five hundred years now, Sookie. How old are you?"

"Eighteen years old," I hummed after thinking on the question a moment. We did not celebrate birthdays in the convent, but I knew I was close to that age if not right on it. When I had become the bride of Christ, I was sixteen.

"You really are a child," he chuckled. Waves of his golden wheat hair fell over his shoulder and caught on the barbs of velvet that lined the collar of his doublet.

"How did you come to be a Baron?"

"You are full of questions tonight, Sookie," Eric smiled. He didn't comment on my limitless inquiries again. They seemed to amuse him. I wondered how much he talked about his life, if he ever got the chance. "I assisted the King, that is King Henry VII, with certain military maneuvers. For my services, his Highness awarded me certain lands and a title. I will not stay forever, but it is a pleasant place for now."

"And where did you come from before England?"

"I am a Norseman. I came from the lands to the North. After I left the lands of ice and snow, I journeyed from place to place. I have seen much of the lands beyond Europe, exotic places, the Middle Kingdom."

"What is the Middle Kingdom?" I blinked, stunned by his frankness, his exploration. I had read, only briefly, about explorers from Europe. I knew so little about them.

"It is another magical place, Sookie, full of dragons and mystics and beautiful women." He grinned at me, as though he knew what I looked like under my dress. He did, but I couldn't admit that to myself.

"Why did you come to France?" I felt my cheeks glowing hot, but did not know why.

"I was invited by your king's military advisor. He wished to give me a larger title, a more expensive home, in exchange for my wisdom. I declined his invitation."

"Why?" I stared, shocked.

"Well, for one thing, he was trying to endanger a rather breathtaking young nun," I blushed as he continued. "And for another, I rather like the Isle."

I yawned and stretched my arms in the cab of our small carriage. Eric held out an arm to me and I took it. He pulled me tenderly across the seats and curled me against his side, his chest a pillow for my head.

"Ask more of your questions tomorrow night, my dear. Rest now." He stroked my hair.

"Are we almost there?" I murmured, letting sleep take me.

"Almost," he answered like a dream. "Almost there."

I spent the day awake, thinking about the man slumbering beside me. Though he had answered a few of my questions, I still knew so little about the Baron, Lord Northman. He'd come from lands far away, hundreds of years in our past. What had his life been like when he was alive? Was he a nobleman, a peasant, a slave? Did they have slaves? How old had he been when he met his mortal end? The most important question lingered in my mind like a plague. Why had he come to the church that first night? What had led them to meeting? Had it simply been the hand of God, bringing them together?

"Do you believe in God?" I asked him the next night after I'd settled myself across from him in the carriage. He rapped on the ceiling and the coachman interrupted the dozing of the horses.

"In the Christian God, Sookie? He came long after my time," Eric replied, studying me with his eyes.

"Well, why did you come to service at Saint Jacques that night?"

"Ah," he smiled. "I see. How did we come to meet?"

"Was it God that guided you into the service?"

"Your God rarely intervenes in my life, Sookie. For that matter, my own gods rarely intervene in my life. I was on my way to eat, in the night district." He looked at me knowingly, a savoring sort of look. I knew what the night district was, despite his gaze. That was where certain pleasurable company could be found. They came to our house to confess often. God hears all prayers, even those of the damned. That was what Mother Superior always told us.

"And you came in to listen to the service,"

"I did. But I came back because of you."

"Me?" I gasped, breathless.

"You. Your spirit and your spark attracted me. Even wrapped up in a nun's habit, you are a beautiful woman, Sookie, a remarkable woman."

"I hardly…I…" I stuttered nervously.

"I assure you, my dear," he said, reaching out to touch my chin. He lifted my head, but I kept my eyes rooted to the floor of the coach. "You are a Tudor rose."

We reached Calais at last, five days and nights after leaving Rouen. At the end of it, I was so sick of the inside of the carriage, I wanted to push it over and run away. Instead, Eric got out first and lifted me out second. He brushed a few strands of errant blond hair from my face and tucked them behind my ear for safe-keeping. I leaned upon his arm as we walked up to the shipping office to purchase tickets across the British Channel.

From the ship merchant's office, we walked to the dressmaker. I looked up at the sign above the tailor's door and Eric helped me over the threshold. I had been wearing the same dirty brown dress for weeks, but we wouldn't go across the channel in the same lacking finery. My Lord was a Baron, a loyal military man, and we would appear on English soil in our best dress. At least, that was what I was told. We parted ways at the entrance, as soon as Eric Northman placed a purse of coins in the tailor's outstretched hand. I was escorted away by the gentle hands of a dark-haired French woman and two seamstresses with blisters on their fingers.

The dress was not made for me specifically. After all, the night was late and we had so little time. The ladies retrieved a beautiful burgundy brocade dress from a cabinet. They stripped the brown dress from me and ushered me into a bathing gown and a pool of boiling water. I rarely bathed at the convent. It was a right reserved for the higher ranks of God's servants on Earth. I was usually the one preparing the privilege, not receiving it! I huddled in the water, which smelled of lavender and rose, and let a washing woman comb out my hair and soap my body. She never once commented on the ghastly, deformed flesh of my leg. When I was lifted from the bath, my hair and skin smelled so elegant that I caught myself inhaling the room at every spare moment. A fresh chemise was pulled down over my head, and over it, a tight girdle was tied in place. I could barely feel the boning around my waist, so thin was my abdomen. But the straps lashed around my breasts, pushing my flesh up under my neck. I could barely breathe.

"My Lady, is this…I…" I couldn't think of how to object without declaring myself a nun.

"You will look beautiful, my Lady," the dressmaker smiled, dropping her head as if I were royalty. I flushed. What role was I to be playing? Was I Lord Northman's servant? His Lady? Perhaps his sister? I found my head suddenly start to spin.

_She seems so uncertain, this peculiar girl. I wonder what happened to her leg. Is she the Baron's mistress? Maybe his daughter? _

These were the thoughts of the women around me, a jumbled mess of thoughts that cuddled up in my head like the skins I had used as blankets on the journey from Rouen. I tried to shut them out, closed my eyes, thought of other things.

"The dress!" I snapped, louder than I should have. Their thoughts were drowned by the sudden gruffness of my tone. I was awash with guilt, for snapping at them, for pretending I was of a higher rank. I let the sullenness show in my eyes, but they never raised their heads to notice. They laced and buttoned me into the gown, cutting seams that would need to be tightened, making crosses on the pattern with chalk.

While the seamstresses worked on the dress, their thoughts buzzing with figures and repeated stitch patterns that numbed my mind and made my eyes water, the dressmaker fitted my braided hair with a French hood. The thin white veil fell over my shoulders, and the jewels in the cap looked peculiar on my head. I was afraid to take it off and attempt sleep, fearful that I might damage her hard work. She'd knotted my hair so tightly, though, that I thought it might never come loose.

Three hours before sunrise, I emerged from the dressmaker's office. The Baron stood opposite me, wearing a stunning blue brocade doublet and a high collared shirt. Over it, he had draped a black velvet cape lined with brilliant black fur. The round black cap on his head stood in stark contrast to the white wheat hair on his head. His dark blue silk galligaskins were worn to the knee and matched his dark blue stockings. He was, in a word, handsome. But it was Lord Northman that dropped his eyes to gaze upon me. I blushed as deeply as the color of my fine dress.

"My Lady, you look…lovely," he smiled.

"My Lord Northman," I whispered, almost hoarse. Despite the beauty of my companion, the voices in my head made me feel sick. The pain in my leg shot up to my hip and back down to my toes. I needed sleep. It had been a wonderful and miserable night. "May we go?"

"Certainly," he nodded to me. The tailor extracted his fee from the black hide purse and handed the rest to the Baron. He lashed the purse to his belt and swept me out of the building. I leaned heavily on his arm until we were outside. There was no one around. The lights had been put out and the city of Calais was drenched with darkness.

We took the first room at the closest inn, and Eric carried me up the stairs. He laid me out upon the bed and my hand went instantly to the lovely French hood atop my head. I couldn't destroy it so soon after putting it on. Eric carefully removed it from my hair, taking the time to unhook its various parts from my intricately styled hair.

"You are ill," he frowned, touching my hand. I looked over his shoulder at the sky. It was already staining with the first tinges of purple daybreak.

"I am just tired, my Lord,"

"Eric," he whispered.

"I need to sleep, as do you. The sun…"

"I can feel it, child. How is your leg?"

"Don't worry about me," I whimpered. I wanted to get up and close the heavy curtains. He eased my shoulder into the mattress.

"Tomorrow morning, we will be on English soil," he murmured, reaching up to stroke my face.

"I am looking forward to it, my Lord,"

"Eric," he grunted, catching my eyes.

"Please, you must close the curtains…" I pointed toward them.

"Eric," he said pointedly.

"Please… I am afraid…" I whimpered, worried about what would happen to him under the light of day. Day hurt his kind. I knew that much.

"If you are afraid, say my name, Sookie."

"Eric," I whispered, yielding to him. "Eric."

"Don't ever be afraid to call my name, Sookie," he said. His voice was dark and deep, penetrating me as the thoughts of the dressmaker had. I could hear his tone vibrating in my flesh.

He closed the drapes and tucked me under the heavy wool blanket. He removed his beautiful doublet and hose and stockings and shirt. I admired his pretty white chemise before letting my eyes fall shut. Tomorrow night, we would be in England. I had never been to England.


	4. Chapter 4

I awakened in the afternoon, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My Lord Northman lay beside me, still in the throes of sleep. He had turned over on his side, but he made no noise, no stirring of any kind. I watched him in his slumber, looking over my shoulder. I tied the small ribbons on the cuffs of my chemise. He looked so peaceful. What I wouldn't give for slumber so peaceful.

I got up from the bed uneasily, placing both feet on the floor. I hobbled to the window, snatching open one side of the heavy draperies. Underneath the curtains, which I allowed to close behind me, I stared out at the foggy sea. Our ship was one of those ships lining the dock. Men ducked to and fro under massive ropes, around massive cleats. They wore loose shirts, some of them even vests of black dyed linen. I had never watched men before, never admired them or their company. The more I saw of the world, the more time I spent beyond the walls of the convent, the more I came to notice them.

I slipped back out from the draperies and looked across the poster bed at my companion, the Baron Northman. He was silent, silent in breath and in body, silent in mind. I had never told him why the sisters had condemned me, how I had come to stand upon the stocks. I had never admitted to him my gifts from the Lord. Would he accept me still? Would he, too, find me a witch? There were things I kept to myself, secrets. Never before had I felt the need to keep secrets.

At dusk, he awakened, stretching the sleep from his bones. I looked up from my own deep thoughts, watched him move and ready himself. Without speaking, he put one muscular leg into a stocking, and then the other. The hair on his shins was barely noticeable, just curls of shimmering white gold. His pants he pulled on over his stockings, knee length black ones as was the fashion. The small horn he wore between them grabbed the attention, but not too much. I didn't know what purpose it served, the codpiece, but it sat below the belt between the thighs. He put on boots next, one calf and then the other. They laced to his knees, covering the stockings almost entirely. He looked more ready to ride than to sail.

"Are you ready?" He asked me, turning around to look at me. I could see sprigs of curly white gold hair peeking out of the v-neck in his chemise. He shrugged his shoulders into the white starched shirt, and the brocade doublet over it. The neck was high, covering the strong apple in his pale throat. I stood awkwardly, leaning upon the back of the dark wood chair.

"Yes, my Lord," I murmured. He raised one perfect blond eyebrow at me, his eyes digging into me like hoes in the firm ground. "Yes, Eric."

"To England, then," he smiled.

We passed the kitchen, where the Baron stopped for a basket of food and a jug of wine. I leaned upon his arm as we strode toward the dock and he helped me up the plank and aboard the ship. I wobbled precariously on the steps before planting both feet on the slimy wet deck. In all my life, I had never been aboard a boat. I gazed around with wide eyes, taking in the masts and lines, the deckhands and the cargo. It took only a moment to hit me. Like a cannon ball dropped at my feet, it hit me. Minds, thoughts, from every corner. They passed in front and behind me, swirled around me like fish in a net. I grasped Eric's arm so tightly, I thought he might jerk it away.

"What is it, child?" He whispered near my ear lobe.

"I do not…" I halted. What could I say to him? "I feel ill, my Lord."

"The ship is not even away from the dock, and you feel seasick?" He chuckled, mocking me.

"I am just…nervous," I frowned.

"Come, Sookie, we will go below deck. It is quieter there."

I looked around at the deck, the men, their eyes upon me, their eyes upon Eric, and I nodded. Quieter? I could only hope that a wall between us would shut down their thoughts.

"Here, Sookie," Eric motioned, tearing off a piece of bread from the loaf. He put it in my hands and poured me a glass of sweet red wine.

"Do you remember the prison?" I asked, before I realized quite what I was saying. At least we were still near French soil. I could still leave him. Couldn't I?

"How could I forget?" Eric asked, his eyes turning to steel before me. Beyond the wall, faint, I could hear the yell of the captain. _Haul anchor!_

"You never asked why I was there," I said into the chunk of bread.

"I know why you were there, Sookie. It is the Inquisition."

"The nuns sent me there."

"Women are only turned in to the Inquisition for two reasons, my child," Eric grunted. "Either you were having sex with someone you should not have had sex with, or you did not have sex with someone you should have had sex with."

I stared at him, the bread sitting in front of my mouth like a hovering bird. Crumbs drifted down onto the table. Could he see into my thoughts the same way I could see into the thoughts of men?

"Women have no power, Sookie. And men want few things from you. Mostly, men crave your beauty, and the soft place between your thighs. Educated women are anomalies, regardless of whether they are royalty, nobility, nun, or courtesan. If you can think for yourself, or if you have convictions, you are useless. No man desires a woman with…hm," he paused and smiled. "Balls."

"Pardon my vulgarity, Sookie," he shrugged. Perhaps I was showing too much on my face. I was horrified. Could he see that or did he just know? Had I been sent to prison because I knew too much about the Father, or had I been sent because I could read his thoughts? If I had simply let him take from me my maidenhood, would I still be among my sisters? Would I still be safe?

"I haven't…ever…" I paused, choking on the words.

"Of course you haven't, Sookie. You are a bride of Christ." He smiled warmly at me. He touched my hand on the table, a gentle touch, a meaningless touch.

"I wasn't sent to prison because I would not…" I shuddered, unable even to speak the words.

"Tell me what you wish to say, child. I cannot read your mind. But I would like to know."

He took my hand more firmly, and I set the bread on the table. The ship wobbled beneath us, but Lord Northman moved like a man with much experience on the sea. He led me onto a velvet sofa, and we sat alongside one another. He covered my lap with a warm dyed wool blanket. Finally, he lit the lamp beside us, filling the room with a warm golden glow. I admired the man, his smooth face and manicured beard. His long hair had been braided behind him, a more intricate plait I had never seen. He folded my hands on my lap like a true lady, and then he sat back in the chair and waited.

"They thought me a witch," I sighed, letting my shoulders slump.

"Are you a witch?" He asked, appearing perfectly frank.

"No!" I squeaked.

"There are witches, Sookie. I was never particularly fond of them as a group, but they do exist to be sure. There are many in England, and many more across the seas. They keep much to the peasant quarters, but I know of them among the higher classes too. It seems odd that they would think witches are invading the churches of France, though. Why did they think you a witch?"

"I received a gift from our Lord."

"Oh?" Eric looked intrigued now. He sat forward in the chair where before he'd been reclining. He placed a large hand on my hands.

"I can…" I paused. I'd come so far, journeyed so long with my angel, my rescuer. Would he reject me now? Would he harm me? Would he fear me?

"Go on,"

"I can read the minds of men, their thoughts and sometimes, their feelings."

His hand dropped away from mine, and he got to his feet. The ship rocked, and I knew we had been at sea awhile now. We were between the land where I'd been born, and this new, unknown place. Had I been a fool to confide in this…in my angel? I couldn't lift my eyes to look at him. For once, I wished to know his thoughts, know what he was thinking. I shut my eyes and tried to feel for his mind, but there was nothing. Nothing but blackness, as if I were alone in the room.

"Can you read my thoughts?" He asked urgently, forcefully. I got to my feet, letting the wrap drop onto the floor. I rolled with the ship, and my leg ached.

"No, my Lord! You are my angel! It was how I knew! I saw you, and I looked up at you, and I stood by you, and I could not hear you!"

"Do not lie to me, girl!" He yowled, more like a demon than a man.

"I could never lie to you or anyone!" I felt tears on my face and I let them fall. My nose watered with slime.

"How do you do it?" He grabbed me suddenly by the arms, squeezing me. "How do you hear them?"

"It just happens, my Lord," I whispered through clenched teeth. "It hurts me, makes me feel ill. I do not want to do it. I wish I could make it stop! I pray to God to make it stop, to let me go back to my life!"

He dropped me to the floor of the cabin, and I fell on my side in a lump. I gathered my skirts around me, my finery, and I prayed to return to the life I had once led. I had been safe there, happy in my simplicity. I was a fool. Maybe I was even a witch. Was my maidenhood worth this error?

"I should have done what you said. I should have had relations with the man that wanted me. I should not have denied him. Maybe I would still be happy. Maybe I would still be home."

"What are you talking about, Sookie? You said they called you a witch because you could read their thoughts!" He paced upon the floor, back and forth.

"The Father of my order, he came upon me in the night. I knew he had hurt my sisters." I was weeping now, speaking through my tears.

"Can you hear the sailors?" He asked, suddenly stopping. He knelt down on the floor beside me. His hand grazed mine.

"Yes, my Lord," I nodded. "When we came aboard the ship, I could hear them."

"And what did they think?"

"That I am beautiful, my Lord, and that I am crippled. Some of them thought things that hurt me. More of them thought about their duties aboard ship, hooking lines and casting ropes and swabbing decks."

"And you cannot read my thoughts?"

"No, my Lord." I shook my head, looking at the floor.

"Look me in the eye," he growled, grabbing my face. He yanked my chin up and stared at me with eyes on fire, blue flames. "Tell me you do not know what I am thinking."

"Your thoughts are hidden from me, my Lord." I stared at him, despite the fact that he was hurting me. "It is as though you are not even here."

He dropped his hands, and we sat motionless on the ship's floor. I wept like a child, frightened and alone. Why had I revealed myself to him? He was not an angel, but another man. He was flawed and imperfect, and I was very stupid. When his hand dropped down into mine, I didn't know what to do. I stared at it as though it were foreign, wrong even. But I didn't push it away.

"If you could read the mind of a vampire, Sookie, you would face greater dangers than the Inquisition."

"I should not have told you," I whimpered.

"Perhaps not, but you have now. And I will keep you safe."

"Safe from what?" I blinked. What was there to be afraid of now? Besides everything.

"It does not matter who gave you this gift, Sookie, be it God or man or something else entirely. It is a great asset. Never tell anyone else. It will be our secret."

He touched my cheek, and I noticed that his skin was cold.

"I apologize for scaring you. I want to keep you safe."

Only a few hours before dawn, we came to the shore of England. I walked slowly and uncomfortably down the ramp and onto the cobblestones of the shipping street. Eric's hand slipped under my arm and guided me into the small market on the shores of Dover. The shops were closed now and the merchants gone, but the lights on the buildings were still lit. At the steps of one, he handed a slip of paper to a messenger boy. The boy got up immediately, accepted his coin of payment, and dashed off into the streets. We walked inside, and my Lord bought us a room for the day.

***

The next night, a knock came upon the door of our small room. Eric answered it, still in his chemise but not in his shirt. I watched from the corner, as if I were a frightened child. The man at the door was not much older than me. His blue eyes and blond hair were decidedly non-English. He spoke to the Baron, but never raised his eyes too high. The Baron was his superior, and they seemed acquainted enough. After a moment, Eric shut the door and stooped to pick up his shirt from the back of a chair.

"It it time to go, Sookie," Eric smiled at me.

"Where?"

"To Kent, child. We're going to my home, Ightham Mote."


	5. Chapter 5

The Angel of Death

Author's Notes: 2/15/10

Dear Readers,

I have received many requests to continue this unique story. However, due to a number of factors, I will not be adding any more chapters to _The Angel of Death_. I invite those of you that love the story to make your own chapters, to continue the story if you so desire. Personally, I have no interest in continuing with it.

Thank you for the reviews. I do appreciate them. I invite those of you interested in Supernatural to check out my latest stuff. I probably won't be writing for SVM until my interest is renewed again (new book or new series).

Thanks again,

AAV


End file.
